


Nârel

by Ashikase



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Assassin's Creed AU, M/M, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-25
Updated: 2014-07-08
Packaged: 2018-02-06 04:57:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1845148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashikase/pseuds/Ashikase
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It has been said that nearly all men stand adversity, but to know a man's character you must give him power. There are many things men can do, in fact, when given power. They could rule, they could lead, they could corrupt, they could inspire... They could control.</p><p>With control over the world and its people, the Templars could create their perfect world. A world with order, purpose, and direction. But men will always seek to be independent, they will always seek to live their lives the way they want to.</p><p>All should be free.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! In advance I would like to say thank you for taking the time to read my story - my first to be posted here, in fact! I've been thinking about writing an Assassin's Creed AU for The Hobbit for the longest time ever since I got back to re-playing my games (I was actually posting it on my Tumblr in the hope that I'd get feedback). Eventually, I just decided to go with it! At first I had wanted to base it on Assassin's Creed 3 (had already started the first chapter) and then wondered if I could base it on Assassin's Creed 2. I settled for just taking elements from the Assassin's Creed games and coming up with a story of my own to suit The Hobbit.
> 
> Also, I will be adding more characters as needed and will add them to the tags eventually. But, for now, know that Thorin, Bilbo, and the rest of the Company will be in the story, as well as Thorin's family. And, yes, as tagged, the relationship between Thorin and Bilbo will be progressing slowly. Rating might also change, by the way, and chapter may be long or short depending on.. Well. Stuff.
> 
> This will probably be the last time I post such a long beginning note and most else will appear at the end (unless I have to post warnings such as blood and gore or character death). So, I hope you enjoy! Please let me know if you have any suggestions or the like. I would appreciate it.

It has been said that nearly all men can stand adversity, but to know a man’s character you must give him power. There are many things men can do, in fact, when given power. They could rule, they could lead, they could corrupt, they could inspire… They could control.

 

And it is because of the thirst for power, for the need to control, that he was about to kill an unarmed man. Granted, the man could easily kill him were they in different positions.

 

“Where is the key?” He hissed through clenched teeth.

 

“It is not meant to be in the hands of the likes of you and your order—“

 

“As it is not meant for you and yours. Only we can establish what this world needs. There is no room for your ideals, Thrór.”

 

“You cannot dictate the lives of men for your perfect world. They will always seek to be independent, they will always seek to live their lives the way they want to—“

 

“Enough!”


	2. Think of the children

Thrór had braved so many dangers in his lifetime that Thráin, upon hearing that his father was dead, was rendered speechless. He had thought his father would die more honorably than being stabbed in the back and left to bleed out, caught unawares.

 

The murderer was not caught, slipped out of the theater during the commotion caused by finding a dead man at a private box. The audience had erupted into chaos, running and screaming, confusing and making the investigation even more difficult for the guards.

 

Thanking the messenger, Thráin was quick to close the gate to the manor, warily eyeing the dimly lit streets as well as the rooftops.

 

With a heavy heart, Thráin returned into the safety of his home where Hjördís, his wife, was waiting for him in the front room. When he broke down and knelt at her feet, his head pillowed on her lap, she knew immediately what had happened. Though she did not soothe him with words, her soft humming and the gentle way she ran her fingers through his hair was enough to calm him down.

 

“I did not think he would die in such a way,” he admitted a few hours later. “He had always seemed, to me, so strong, almost invincible.”

 

“Considering what he was and what _you were_ , it would be better to expect the worst,” Hjördís could not help but point out, a frown marring her features. “He should have known, and you should know, that your enemies will stop at nothing to get what they want.”

 

“But father does not have it.”

 

“Thráin…”

 

Straightening his back, Thráin met his wife’s eyes and reached for her hands before she could pull them away as realization dawned on her. “He gave the key to me.”

 

“You’ve put your family in danger—“

 

“Hjördís—“

 

“You’ve put your own children in danger, Thráin!”

 

Thráin pressed Hjördís’ hands against his chest, clutching them tightly but not enough to hurt her. “I’m his only son, Hjördís. Who else could he have given it to?”

 

“He has two younger brothers!” Hjördís answered back, the anger she felt coloring her face red. “You promised me you were done with that life. You promised. For the lives of your children, you promised.”

 

Though many years had passed since Thráin kept his robes, he knew that one day he would have to break his promise. But if there was one promise he made to his wife that he could keep, it was that he would never involve his children in the business of the order he was born into. It would end with him, his children never to learn of the Assassin order and their creed. There were others, after all, who carried the blood of Durin with them.

 

“Your enemies will not see me or your children as innocents. All they know is that we are a family of Assassins.”  Hjördís managed to pry away one of her hands from the grip of her husband, cupping his cheek as she directed his gaze to her own. “Right now, the only promise you have made that is important to me is the promise to protect your family. To chase after the murderer of your father is also to put us at risk.”

 

Thráin never did don his robes again in the years to come and, instead, chose to seek his father’s murderer through other means. It had pained him to hide such things from his wife, but he could not rest until he received word that Azog was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hjördís means "sword goddess," derived from the Old Norse "hjörr" meaning "sword," and "dís" meaning "goddess."
> 
> Also, it's early in the morning but I just had to finish typing up this chapter. I'm not sure how often I will be able to update this story though I've been thinking once or twice a week is doable (though this still depends because I am about to leave for internship). I promise, however, that Thorin and his siblings will show up in the next chapter!


	3. A good life

“Behind you!”

 

Frerin stumbled aside when a body suddenly sprawled on the ground next to him, a smirk gracing his features for he knew who had come to help him clean up his mess. He turned to find his older brother barely managing to keep to scowl on his face at the sight of the brawl he had started.

 

“Thorin!” The younger cheered, opening his arms wide. Thorin had merely rolled his eyes and shoved Frerin aside before jabbing his fist into an incoming attacker’s face.

 

Whistling as the delinquent all but fell back onto the ground with, possibly, a broken nose and a split lip, Frerin looked back towards Fraener’s posse with a smug grin. The other young man signaled for his men to surround the two brothers, widening Frerin’s grin anymore. With Thorin watching his back, he had no doubt that they would win this petty brawl.

 

Winning against an argument with Thorin later on, however? Doubtful.

 

“What did you do to piss him off this time?” Thorin asked as he easily side-stepped a punch aimed for his head, countering with his own.

 

Frerin ducked and managed to land an uppercut on his opponent before answering with a huff. “Can we _please_ not talk about this right now?”

 

With a warning glare, Thorin quickly turned all his focus on fending off Fraener’s men. He never did quite understand why Fraener had such a sore spot for his family and tended to ignore his antics – if only because he knew that if he were to rise to the bait, he would beat Fraener senseless. Frerin usually did not let petty insults and words affect him. Instead, he enjoyed pushing all of Fraener’s buttons until he snapped.

 

Whoever started this brawl must have done so with good reason.

 

“Fall back!” Fraener yelled eventually once he caught sight of the eldest Durin brother stalking up to him. “Fall back!” He shoved at his men to get them out of his way as he ran away from Thorin’s wrath – brought about by his already foul mood that afternoon.

 

Frerin laughed at the fleeing men, draping an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “You always did scare the trousers off of him—“

 

“Are you hurt?”

 

“—he never really did try to pick a fight with you again after that one time you and Dwalin knocked out the teeth of that one friend of his—“

 

“Frerin.”

 

“—you should ask Dwalin to join us more often—“

 

“ _Nadadith_.”

 

“What?” Frerin looked confused a moment before he was smiling again, thumping Thorin’s chest playfully. “I’m fine, Thorin.”

 

Thorin looked his brother up and down, assessing if his words were true or not. He knew there would be a few bruises, maybe a few scratches, but most would be hidden by his clothes and that was good enough for him. They did not need to worry their mother and receive a scolding from her as well. Though, once word got around that the Durin brothers fought with Fraener and his posse, there would be no escape from the anger of Hjördís.

 

“Let’s get you home.”

 

“Not just yet.”

 

“Frerin!”

  

* * *

 

 

“So he said we were a family of cowards?”

 

“Yes!” Frerin groaned, running his hand down his face and so very close to tugging on his blond locks. Or Thorin’s darker ones. “It’s one thing to insult me personally, but if you include my family then it is going too far.”

 

Thorin sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, gaze fixating on the way their legs dangled off the edge of the roof they had perched themselves on. “I would not mind insulting his family,” he remarked, a frown furrowing his brows. “Father always said Fraener’s own father was difficult to deal with as well.”

 

It wasn’t that Thráin ever told him directly, Thorin just happened to pick up bits and pieces of his parents’ conversation whenever he passed by the study or maybe even the dining room. Of course, as soon as his father noticed Thorin was lurking around, he would change the subject. That never did stop his eldest son from trying to sneak around and eavesdrop on their conversations – he even got his siblings to do it sometimes, especially Dís in particular.

 

“I wonder how lords deal with such feuds,” Frerin mused aloud, swinging his legs to and fro. “Though I feel father and Uncle Náin would have picked on Lord Hreidmar.”

 

“Like you and Dáin would?”

 

Frerin snickered, leaning further back on his arms. “You know us too well.”

 

“I wish I did not, to be honest.”

 

With a roll of his eyes, Frerin nudged Thorin though not hard enough that his older brother would lose his balance. Thorin was fast, yes, but he did not want to risk pushing his brother off of the tower.

 

“It is a good life we lead, _nadad_. Despite a few minor inconveniences.”

 

“The best,” Thorin agreed with a huff of laughter. “May it never change.”

 

“And may it never change us.”

  

* * *

 

 

“Do you think me blind and deaf, son? I know all about your fight with Fraener.” Thráin then turned to face Thorin, the same scowl his eldest son often wore on his face. “And you, Thorin. I had expected you to stop your brother, not jump into the fight and _help_ him.” He sighed and rubbed his temples, eyes closed though he was no longer scowling. In fact, it looked much like he was trying to stop himself from laughing and failing miserably. “It reminds me too much of myself when I was your age.”

 

Both Thorin and Frerin looked to each other before joining their father in his laughter – this was not what they had been expecting, sneaking into their own home last night and avoiding their father all morning the following day. Once they three of them had calmed down, Thráin led his sons back into their home and into his study.

 

Thorin noted that there was more clutter than usual. Some of the books were off the shelves and scattered about the room, some on the desk, some even on the floor. There were a number of parchments on his father’s large wooden table as well. Letters, maybe? Notes? He had spotted a map but Thráin had started to speak to him.

 

“I need you to deliver a few things to your Uncle Náin, Thorin,” He said, holding out a box towards his eldest son. “For his perusal only.”

 

“Understood.”

 

“Return to me when it is done.”

 

“And me?” Frerin asked, thumping Thorin on the back as his brother left their father’s study.

 

Thráin smiled and placed his hands on his youngest son’s shoulders. “Your mother has been looking for you all day. Why don’t you go look for her?”

 

Frerin tried not to look to upset at not being given a task though he wished his father would give him more to do, if even just to lighten the load Thorin always seemed to bear. He knew it had something to do with Thorin being the eldest and not because Thráin was playing favorites, but it annoyed him that he was always given the menial tasks or none at all.

 

“All right, _Adad_.”

  

* * *

 

 

Frerin found his mother sitting with Dís in the garden, braiding her daughter’s hair meticulously. He grinned and sat down next to her, watching the way her fingers expertly weaved his sister’s dark hair.

 

“Your father did not give you and Thorin a hard time, I hope?” Hjördís asked as she finished up Dís’ hair.

 

“What are you talking about, _Amad_?” Frerin laughed, beaming up at his mother as he lay himself on the grass. Dís rolled her eyes and looked to him, raising a brow.

 

“Playing innocent now, are you?”

 

“Father didn’t give me or Thorin a hard time, if you must know,” Frerin huffed, narrowing his eyes playfully at his younger sister. “He had Thorin deliver something for him, though. And he told me that you have been looking for me all day, _Amad_.”

 

Hjördís smiled, tapping Dís to tell her that she was done with her hair. “I need you to accompany me, love. Come.”

 

Frerin scrambled to his feet to follow after his mother out of the manor, walking beside her and telling her what he had been up to all day with Thorin.

 

“You should not be too angry with Fraener,” Hjördís implored, looping her arm around Frerin’s. “The accusations on his father surely is taking its toll on him. I just wish he would not take out his anger on my sons.”

 

“And why does he take it out on us?” Frerin asked, confused now. He knew his parents both often discussed in hushed whispered in the study until late. Thorin would often try to listen in but if he heard anything, he refrained from telling his siblings. Or perhaps he did not hear anything at all?

 

“Because it was your father who has the evidence against Lord Hreidmar.”

 

Frerin frowned, eyes narrowed into a glare. “Still, Fraener spoke ill of us.”

 

Hjördís sighed and patted her son’s arm. “I understand, my love. But you are better than Fraener and his father. Both you and Thorin.”

 

The youngest Durin and lapsed into silence, allowing his mother to lead him through the streets of the Iron Hills. As they walked, the people greeted both him and Hjördís and he smiled back, often asking them how their day went.

 

Thráin was one of the many lords of the Iron Hills, the high lord being their uncle, Náin. They all took care of the people and were respected in turn, more so than lords like Hreidmar, who was greedy and corrupt – unpleasant, much like his son. Because of this, the people favored the Durins, who were a lot more hands-on and were genuine with their words and actions.

 

“Ah! Lady Hjördís!”

 

Frerin cocked his head to the side, taking in the stature of the young man that stood before him and his mother.

 

“Frerin, this is Bilbo. Bilbo, my youngest son, Frerin.”

 

Untangling his arm from Hjördís’, Frerin shook the other young man’s hand, unable to stop himself from returning the bright smile on his face. “Pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Oh, no. The honor is mine!”

 

Hjördís laughed softly, gesturing towards the open door behind Bilbo. “Is your father in? There is something I need to pick up from him.”

 

“I was just about to deliver it to your manor, my lady,” Bilbo answered with an apologetic smile on his face now. “I’m afraid he’s out on business.”

 

“Deliver what?” Frerin asked.

 

“A new armchair for your father,” Hjördís answered for Bilbo who had gone back into the workshop to fetch the said chair. Frerin followed after him, knowing a man of his stature would not be able to carry an armchair – especially one made for someone as big as Thráin.

 

“Let me help you with that.”

 

“Thank you. I had planned to bring this out to the cart but I’m afraid I need help to lift it.”

 

“I figured.”

  

* * *

 

 

Hjördís, Frerin, and Bilbo returned to the manor just in time to see Thorin leaving with rolls of parchment in hand, brooding as usual.

 

“ _Amad_ ,” he greeted, kissing Hjördís’ cheek before turning to his brother and Bilbo, the latter looking a little red in the face.

 

“Let me take that.”

 

If possible, Bilbo had turned even redder and Thorin assumed it was more out of embarrassment rather than the effort of holding the armchair up. He handed the parchment to his mother and replaced Bilbo in helping his brother carry the piece of furniture back into their home.

 

“That is Thorin,” Hjördís pointed out to Bilbo, watching her boys throw words back and forth at each other as they brought the armchair further in. It did not take long for Dís to tell her brothers to quiet down from deep inside the manor. “My eldest son. He works for my husband, though he is more of an errand boy at the moment. Both he and Frerin are still young, but Thorin has been learning a lot from his father.”

 

Bilbo smiled politely and nodded his head, ignoring the yelling match going on inside. “Yes, well, I mostly run errands for my father too. I’ve only just recently started to learn how to carve and cut wood. I lack the skill to draw and design the way my father does still.”

 

“One thing at a time, Bilbo.”

 

Bilbo laughed. “Yes, Lady Hjördís.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you've played Assassin's Creed II, I'm sure a few lines were familiar as well as scenarios - with a few differences. It's funny because I had originally planned for this to be more like Assassin's Creed III but... This happened.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! And, again, if you've played Assassin's Creed II, you probably know what will happen next.


	4. First farewell

When Thorin had returned from his Uncle Náin’s – who was out of town on business, he was told – he happened upon his father speaking to one of the other lords of the Iron Hills. He lingered close to the doorway, his back against the wall as he listened in to their soft conversation.

 

“—you worry too much, Thráin. Hreidmar is in prison and his son is also no threat to you and your family.”

 

Frowning, Thorin wondered just what kind of threat Lord Hreidmar and his family could be to have his father worried so much. He knew from his father that Hreidmar was a difficult man to deal with and he seemed to ignore the ill-temperedness Hreidmar often directed at him.

 

“Still…” Thráin seemed to hesitate then. Most likely frowning quite deeply too, Thorin thought to himself with mild amusement.

 

Knocking on the wood of the frame, Thorin made his presence known and entered the study.

 

“Ah, Thorin!” Thráin smiled, any sign of the doubt and suspicion that was surely on his face earlier gone, wiped away. Thorin knew his father better, of course, and would have noticed how it was all just an act. He would not speak about it, no, but would tell his mother instead. She was, after all, a much better person to speak to.

 

“You remember Lord Thranduil, yes? From Greenwood—“

 

“Yes,” Thorin replied as his father gestured towards the other man. He bowed his head slightly but received nothing but a condescending look from Thranduil. Raising a brow, Thorin turned all his attention to his father then. “I’ve delivered your message to Uncle Náin but I am afraid he and his family are not there. He did leave a letter for you, however.”

 

Thráin hummed thoughtfully and took the sealed letter from his son. “Odd that he would leave so suddenly and without word…”

 

Thranduil looked from father to son and cleared his throat. “I shall take my leave, then.”

 

“My apologies,” Thráin said, setting the letter down on his desk. “For cutting your conversation short—“

 

Thranduil raised a hand and shook his head. “I have other business to take care of while here in the Iron Hills. You do not need to apologize. I can show myself out.” With that, the man left both Thráin and Thorin to watch him as he walked out.

 

It wasn’t until Thorin was sure Thranduil was well out of earshot did he speak up again. “He always was so dramatic,” he remarked, earning a deep chuckle from his father.

 

“Indeed.” Thráin clapped Thorin on the shoulder, a more genuine smile on his face now. “Now, why don’t you take a break? I shall read your uncle’s letter to me and if I need you, I will call on you again.”

 

“Yes, _Adad_.”

 

* * *

 

Thráin called on his soon again sooner than Thorin had expected. His father did not seem as composed when he handed him rolls of sealed parchment, hands cold and clammy.

 

“Bring these to the ravens,” Thráin instructed, voice low, as if sharing a secret with his son. “They know where to go.”

 

Thorin nodded and hastily made to leave as Thráin returned into his study, closing the door behind him. On the way out, he saw his mother and was quick to approach her. Frerin followed behind closely, carrying a great armchair with another, much smaller man.

 

“ _Amad_ ,” he greeted, kissing her cheek as well – a gesture that always amused her, especially when he started to lean down to do so. Turning to Frerin and the other man who was red in the face from the effort of holding up the armchair’s weight.

 

“Let me take that.”

 

The man turned even redder and Thorin allowed no room for arguments as he handed Hjördís the rolls of parchment and took the other’s place. Frerin had seemed relieved for the help but failed to thank his older brother the “normal” way.

 

“I could carry this on my own, you know, but I appreciate the help,” Frerin said with a laugh.

 

Thorin merely raised a brow and loosened his hold on the piece of furniture, allowing Frerin to bear most of the weight. “Very well, _guchirith_ 1. Carry it yourself.”

 

“ _Dharg_ 2!”

 

“ _Rukhs_ 3!”

 

“ _Thurkkharub_ 4 _—_ “

 

“Children!” Dís yelled from upstairs. “Quiet down!”

 

“Banshee,” Frerin muttered under his breath, adjusting his grip on the varnished wood of Thráin’s new armchair. Thorin snickered at that, glancing over his shoulder to where his mother was still talking to the small man.

 

“Who’s that?”

 

“Bilbo,” Frerin answered, putting the furniture down in front of Thráin’s study before knocking on the door. “His father’s the woodworker? Architect? Something like that.”

 

The older of the two brothers hummed and knocked on the door again when their father did not answer. He frowned, knowing he had left Thráin in the study and that he did not leave else he would have heard.

 

“Should we just leave it in the living room for now?” Frerin asked. “Father doesn’t like it if we go in without permission.”

 

Thorin looked towards the door a while more before nodding, lifting the armchair again with Frerin’s help.  There, Hjördís was speaking with Bilbo, asking him if he would like something to eat or drink.

 

Bilbo declined politely with a shake of his head and a small smile. “No, no. It is quite all right, I have to get back and finish a few things before we leave.”

 

Frerin, ever so nosey, had approached them and took the scrolls from his mother, leaving Thorin to adjust the armchair’s position. “Oh? Leave for where?”

 

“My family and I are not actually from here,” Bilbo explained. “My father was contracted by one of the lords here and when word came around that he was here, well, we made good business. Since things have settled down a bit, father wanted to head back home. Though I’m pretty sure business will find us even as we travel from place to place.”

 

“With a respectable and well-known name such as yours, I am sure.” Hjördís looped her arm through Bilbo’s, patting his affectionately as she led him out. “Tell your father I highly appreciate his hard work and yours. I’ll have one of my sons bring the rest of the payment by the end of the day or early tomorrow, and perhaps I’ll have baked something for your mother as well.” She and Belladona, Bilbo’s mother, had become good friends after all.

 

“You are very much welcome, Lady Hjördís. And thank you, really.”

 

Hjördís smiled and squeezed Bilbo’s arm gently. “I wish you a safe journey, should I not be able to see you and your parents again. I am sure that, one day, you’ll be able to go on your own adventure.”

 

Both Thorin and Frerin had followed their mother and Bilbo out, quietly speaking to themselves in a language Bilbo did not understand. Bilbo turned to them and stammered a little when the brothers’ attention shifted to him.

 

“Thank you for your help, Frerin,” he said. “And for yours as well, Thorin.”

 

“Do you need someone to accompany you home?” Frerin asked with a playful grin, nudging his older brother. “Thorin was on his way out to run a few more errands. I’m sure he would not mind taking you home.”

 

* * *

 

Bilbo had been rambling on and on about whatever came to mind as Thorin walked him back to his father’s workshop. Their conversation had first started out on the topic of what exactly it was his father did. Thorin had shown interest as Bilbo spoke about woodworking and how his father had eventually ventured into architecture after having built their home, lovingly called Bag-End.

 

“Does he work with stone as well?” Thorin had asked after some time, to which Bilbo had just nodded.

 

“He does, if the job calls for it. He’d have to be versatile else we would not have as much clients.”

 

Now they were talking about the places Bilbo had wanted to go to.

 

“My mother traveled a lot as well, you see,” Bilbo started. “She always documented her travels, drew the plants and animals that she found interesting. Her father was both a sailor and merchant, had his own schooner and all. I suppose that was why she loved going out to see the world.” He looked to Thorin then, surprised that though the other was not really watching him as he spoke, was listening attentively – for he had turned towards Bilbo with a curious expression on his face.

 

“And why did your mother settle down as she did?”

 

“She married my father,” Bilbo replied with a smile.

 

Thorin hummed, playing with the scrolls of parchment he was carrying. Eventually, he looked up thoughtfully though a small furrow had appeared between his brows. “I’ve never been that far away from home,” he said. “I’ve never even been to my mother’s hometown.”

 

Bilbo would have asked Thorin if he had ever thought of going there, journeying on his own. But he supposed that, being the eldest of his siblings, he would have to follow in their father’s footsteps.

 

“My mother spoke a lot about it too,” Thorin added, guiding Bilbo to the side and away from the people gathered around a street performer. “It always seemed like such a beautiful place whenever she told me and my siblings about it. Untouched, she described it.”

 

Even though Bilbo had wanted to hear more about the Lady Hjördís’ hometown, Thorin did not say much else after that. So Bilbo filled in the silence between them with more haphazard rambling, about how he would love to see places like that.

 

Before long, he had arrived back at the workshop. Fiddling with his fingers, Bilbo gestured towards the door. “Thank you for accompanying me.” _Even though I didn’t need anyone to do so._

 

“I was going in the same direction.” Thorin waved his hand dismissively. “I hope you have a safe trip back home, Master Baggins.”

 

“Oh! No, no, no. Master Baggins is my father. You can just call me Bilbo.”

 

Thorin raised a brow, lips twitching just barely as he fought down an amused smile. “Right,” he said. “Well, I’ll be on my way.”

 

* * *

 

1 (the) master that is young

2 (the) troll

3 (the) orc

4 (the) donkey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the next chapter! I hope you all enjoyed it - I know it's short. I just figured that what happens next would be better as another chapter. It's been pretty similar to Assassin's Creed 2 so far but I'll start straying from it already.
> 
> (On a side note, I'm having a bit of trouble finding a place to live in that's closer to where I'll be interning.)


End file.
